Joseph Skipsey

Not the Bird

HE’S not the bird I took him for’€•
   I heard him in the distance screaming,
And tho’ his voice was harsh, that hour,
   I dream’d of glories, golden, gleaming!
 
This hour he meets my closer view;
   And tho’ he cuts as big a swagger,
I find a little cockatoo,
   And not a peacock, in the bragger!
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